Zeitgeist
by elmey
Summary: "All the World's a Stage..." A tag for "The Cap and Gown Affair", a valentine truffle written for vivic08. Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin


_All the world's a stage..._

_._

**ZEITGEIST**

**.**

Illya gave his partner a considering look. "What was that? That was hardly a vintage Solo move."

Napoleon watched the girls go, looking thoughtful. "They're so young, they seem to be from another world. "

"It looked to me like you weren't trying very hard."

Napoleon shrugged. "Maybe I wasn't. I wonder sometimes... "

Illya arched an eyebrow.

"...if my approach is growing a bit dated."

Illya clapped him on the shoulder. " A bit of over the top flattery, a dollop of braggadocio-the Solo charm will never grow old."

"The student look suits you", Napoleon said, "you look as young as you did on the day that I met you."

Illya rolled his eyes. "I didn't say it would work on me."

"Now _that's_ something that will never change," Napoleon laughed and they left Blair College behind.

.

#####

.

Three days later, comfortably settled on his own familiar couch, Illya was in a mellow mood. He and Napoleon had gone out to dinner and gratifyingly, for no reason that he could see, his partner had picked up the check. The evening was far enough advanced now that Illya had jettisoned his glass and was cradling the almost empty bottle of vodka in his arms, his stockinged feet propped on the coffee table, his head leaning against the back of the sofa, his eyes closed. Which was why he missed the calculating look Napoleon gave him as he poured himself another two fingers of scotch and then sat down next to him.

"I meant what I said a few days ago. The student look suits you, you fit in."

"I know how to blend in Napoleon, I don't _fit_ in at all."

"I suppose neither one of us does really", Napoleon said, thoughtfully twirling the liquor in his glass. "Still, you have a sense of what's going on with the modern generation."

Illya opened his eyes to squint at him. "Developed a sudden thing for college girls, have you?"

"In our position, it doesn't hurt to keep up with the times", Napoleon said airily.

Illya's answer was a noncommittal _"mmmm"_ as he took another swig from his bottle.

Napoleon inched a little closer. "You know I was thinking. Perhaps I do need to practice a new approach."

One of Illya's eyebrows rose, expressing his skepticism better than anything he could have said.

"And since I'm here, and since you're more in touch with the _zeitgeist..."_

The other eyebrow joined the first, expressing complete incredulity now. "Are you suggesting that I let you practice your lines on me?"

"It will be like rehearsing a play. You like Shakespeare don't you?"

Illya sat up, his feeling of comfort gone. He looked at Napoleon suspiciously. "I don't see what Shakespeare has to do with..."

"You were in the Amateur Dramatic Club at Cambridge."

"What if I was?" Illya asked with a touch of belligerence.

"This is, you know, like ah, Orlando practicing with Rosalind."

"Napoleon. I am _not_ your Rosalind."

"Why not", Napoleon asked, maddeningly reasonable. "You played the part at Cambridge."

"I never told you anything like..." Illya said then stopped. "Slate!" he almost hissed the word.

"What can it hurt," Napoleon wheedled, "it's just for practice."

"No", said Illya. "Definitely not."

Napoleon edged closer and reached out to take a lock of Illya's hair between his fingers. "Minerva seemed to like it when I played with her hair."

"Napoleon." Illya growled a warning.

"Yours is nicer", Napoleon said, smiling engagingly.

Illya gaped at him. "Napoleon..." he started, but something in his partner's eyes gave him pause. They held the same devil-may-care manic gleam Napoleon had before his maddest starts in the field. Illya blinked; wondered. He could feel a sudden charge in the air and as always, it sparked an answering madness in him. He took another swig from his bottle as Napoleon inched even closer. He carefully put it down on the table. "I must be mad" he muttered to himself, "or drunk."

"Russians don't get drunk on vodka" Napoleon pointed out. "But I did hear that madness runs in your family."

Illya's lips twitched. "Alright, alright. But I'm warning you..." He thought a moment, then just to make sure, he took his glasses from his shirt pocket and put them on before turning back to Napoleon. He opened his arms. _"Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humour and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now, an I were your very Rosalind?"_

Napoleon tilted his head thoughtfully. _"I would kiss before I spoke."_

Illya stared at him.

"It's the next line of the play," Napoleon said helpfully, looking him right in the eye.

They were sitting so close now that their thighs were pressed together, their noses almost touching. Heat flared between them as they looked at each other, and both men caught their breath. Slowly, Napoleon raised his hand to brush back the unruly hair over Illya's forehead. Then he removed Illya's glasses, folded them and put them back into his partner's shirt pocket.

"You don't need those to see where this is going", he said.

Illya allowed himself a smile before he pounced.

.

####


End file.
